Numbered are the days I will be able to rely on the blinding morning sunlight as a slap on the face and get out of bed like a normal human being. Cue what I call the spinning beachball of death syndrome, wherein I try to convince myself, way past the 14th snooze, that life does exist outside the micro-climate that is under my duvet. The clocks went back over the weekend and we had one of the most beautiful Sundays I’d seen in a while. I hit the flower market, prepared it’d be my last this year, and bought a bunch of dahlia’s for a tenner. By the afternoon I had managed to cross town to the V&A, wilting flowers in tow, which only confirmed the power of weather-influenced stamina, one that we were about to be deprived of, shortly.

Alas, the season of overpriced eggs benedict breakfasts ‘at that hipster place’ for the sake of a sunny morning is coming to an end. That, and a run around the block at random times in the day (because the weather is nice), which ultimately does nothing, really, for your diet. Try running on a morning that looks like stupid-o’clock in mid-November, then you can put ‘jogger’ back on your Facebook profile. My personal challenge is getting up at 7am this quarter, and limiting longing looks towards the bed down to one hour. What’s yours?

Primrose Hill, London

You’re about to be let in on a secret that Londoners won’t openly share unless prompted and poked with a heated walking stick. I’m sharing this because I’m an inherent traitor (stems from life-long state of being an expat) and also could do with some brownie points with my readers after a month-ish long hiatus. Best burgers in London? Lucky Chip. Best toilets in Mayfair? The Connaught Hotel. < You might want to pretend you’re pregnant.

I know, the name doesn’t ring a bell – it’s not known like Shoreditch, Notting Hill, or even Brixton – but I can guarantee you know all the residents. They say, one can’t swing a dead cat in Primrose Hill without hitting Jude Law, or Kate Moss. So picture this, midsummer afternoon, twinkling bracelets stacked up one hand, dainty stacking rings on the other, and a binocular around my neck. (I kid…) Not to say that Londoners flock up North to the little pocket of immaculate macaron-coloured townhouses to gawk at celebrities – the actual Hill itself is in fact London’s best panoramic view across the city, with the occasional squaaawk from the tropical birds that reside in ZSL (the zoo) across the road lending a feeling that you’ve successfully escaped the city. Sprinkle in a sighting of Eliza Doolittle at the florist and Gwen Stefani pushing a pram out the pub, and you got yourself a summer blockbuster. You don’t even need to be faux-pregnant to enjoy this bit of town.

*While I have my hubby’s nickname engraved on my own Esencia Friendship Bracelet, I confess that I was this close to engraving the Domino’s Pizza telephone number…

Other than waking up one morning and finding this picture in my phone and thinking DID I JUST SUCCESSFULLY INSTAGRAM WHILST SLEEPING, I’ve been revisiting the same dream lately – nothing specific – Ryan Gosling/Jennifer Lawrence’s face here and there, but roughly always a dream of a journey to an exotic, faraway world (burgerland included). As with everything I blame the weather in London, which to be clear, has been downright abominable (not to be confused with the word adorable), but I fear the Disney movie-marathon from a few weekends back, one spanning multiple cultures and backdrops, deserve most of the blame…* It got me digging out photos from the various journeys from the past six months and re-living them, and desperately day-dreaming for more.

As established before, the Amulette de Cartier is a trinket that collects dreams & wishes (ehem pokeball ehem), and being bitten by the travel bug and all I decided to unlock just one wish: shooting at the St Pancras Renaissance Hotel, which was as exotic and faraway-fairytale as I could get in London without hiring a mariachi band from Brixton. Although, tell me that staircase wasn’t decorated by a million tinkerbells and blessed by Fairy Godmother? Perfect location for my second story with Cartier, you’ll agree – shot with Kris, my own fairy godsister when it comes to photography. And as always, don’t forget to check out Cartier’s new Tumblr for the full scope of the Amulette universe.

In Collaboration with Cartier; photography by KrisAtomic; Location: Renaissance Hotel.

*Just like it’s been making me burst out in Let it Go (cue the husband: ‘oh hell, here we go again’).